She reached forward to lift it, but she was a little embarrassed by the wood and coals she was carrying, and somehow—who ever can say exactly how such things happen?—her hand slipped, or the bowl slipped, or her foot slipped—anyway the china fell to the ground, and darting forward to pick it up, Ruth saw to her horror that the basin was broken into several pieces. The poor girl was sadly distressed. Still she did not think it so very bad, for she knew nothing of the history of the china. She gathered it together, and went slowly down-stairs in search of Naylor. She met her just at the kitchen door.
'O Naylor,' she said anxiously, 'I am so sorry. I've had an accident, and my lady's soup-bowl is broke.'
She held it out as she spoke; she was not afraid; she was just simply, as she said 'so sorry,' but quite unprepared for the storm that burst upon her. How Naylor did scold! Every sharp word she could think of was hurled at Ruth; strangest of all she was almost the most blamed for having done as she had been told, in at once and straight-forwardly telling what had occurred.
'Bold, impudent, and impertinent girl that you are, to come like that, as cool as a cucumber. "O Naylor, I've broke my lady's bowl,"' and here she imitated the girl's tone and voice in a very insulting way, 'as if you'd something pleasant to tell.'
Pale and trembling, Ruth stood endeavouring to keep back her tears. 'If I could match it,' she said, 'I'd do anything.'
'Match it!' said Naylor contemptuously. 'Why, Mrs. Vyner brought it herself from Paris, or somewhere farther off still. It's china as you never sees the likes of in a shop. Match it, indeed!'
'I didn't know'—— began the girl, but it was no use; her sobs and tears burst out, and she rushed away—up to her own room, nearly knocking down Mossop on the stair.
'Why, child, whatever's the?'—— she began; but Ruth only shook her head and flew on. She had been warned not to complain to Cousin Ellen, and she wasn't going to do so. She cried till her eyes were 'like boiled gooseberries,' and then, suddenly remembering where she was, and that she had her work to do, she tried to cure them by plunging her face into cold water, and with aching head and still more sorely aching heart, crept down-stairs with her needlework to the corner of the servants' hall where she sat of an afternoon.
'If only I could run away! oh, if only I could run home!' she said to herself.
Betsy consoled her in her own way, which was not a very wise one, though kindly meant, when the two girls were alone in their room at night.